


Scars

by AlexiHollis



Series: She Doesn't Believe in Soulmates (But She Does) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, past gun violence, soulmate scar au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiHollis/pseuds/AlexiHollis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Lexa finally talk about their scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clarke's Scar

Three months. Clarke and Lexa’s relationship lasted three months until the nagging, curious part of Clarke’s brain started overanalyzing, because they never talked about it. Every time she tried, Lexa quickly shifted the conversation or stopped talking altogether. One time, Lexa went as far as leaving when Clarke didn’t stop trying, pushing Lexa to the point of near tears and a clenched jaw and, when Clarke began rambling and no longer paying attention, screamed “I am not talking about this, I have to go” before slamming the door. Lexa never yelled, yelling and slamming doors frightened her beyond belief, but, of course, Clarke didn’t know why. Because they never talked about it or anything soulmates were supposed to talk about, especially soulmates as bent and gnarled as Lexa and Clarke.

Three months of knowing they were soulmates and Clarke didn’t have an answer as to why she went so long thinking Lexa died at the age of nine. Yelling and slammed doors lead to radio silence from Lexa who, according to Raven who wrestled the information from Anya, flew home a few hours after their fight. The moment she heard that, two days after the _incident,_ Clarke’s slowly mending heart tore once again. Another day passed, but no one heard from Lexa, so Clarke sat curled on the couch in the living room, wearing Lexa’s favorite Grounders hoodie, three times too big on the taller girl and practically swallowed the blonde. Raven attempted a joke about the Grounders, Clarke being a die-hard Arkers fan, but Clarke stared straight ahead, hands lingering inside the hoodie, tracing the scar that caused this fiasco. So Raven left her alone, but Clarke’s phone, plugged into the wall next to her courtesy of one Raven Reyes, continued to buzz and beep and ring. If this kept up long, voicemail Abby threatened to pull Clarke from school and bring her home while texts from the doctor, filled with to the brim with faith for her daughter, read maybe she wasn’t as ready as she thought; Octavia tried to convince her that a gap year couldn’t hurt; a surprisingly thoughtful Bellamy reminded her these things take time, soulmates don’t always click immediately.

On the sixth day of no Lexa, Clarke barely registered the front door opening, then shut with strange carefulness nor hesitant footsteps. She didn’t realize she wasn’t completely alone until an exhausted looking Lexa placed a stack of files on the coffee table before turning to look at Clarke. At seeing the blonde’s state, Lexa immediately sank to her knees, guilt taking over the beautiful green eyes Clarke loved so much.

With a gentle hand, Lexa stroked a piece of slightly greasy blonde hair that fell into Clarke’s eyesight behind her ear, then cupped her cheek lovingly.

“God,” Lexa muttered, stroking Clarke’s cheek with her thumb. “I thought Raven was being dramatic. I’m so sorry, I didn’t-I just-You deserve to know the truth,” Lexa sighed, her voice clogging with guilt. “And I didn’t know how to tell you so I thought…” She cast a glance to the files sitting on the table. “I thought maybe if I could show you it would be better. I’m a horrible storyteller.”

Blinking dry eyes, Clarke sat up slowly, confused and body aching in different places from lack of use.

“I thought you hated me,” Clarke muttered, voice scratchy. A voice sounding suspiciously like her old therapist pondered if Lexa really came back. What if  Clarke’s hallucinations decided to start up again? “Why wouldn’t you answer your phone?”

Blood rushed to Lexa’s cheeks and the tips of her ears, staining them pink. Still kneeling in front of Clarke, her right hand disappeared into her leather jacket pocket, pulling out an absolutely demolished cell phone.

“I dropped my phone down the stairs,” She explained, then pulled out a smaller flip phone Clarke had never seen before. “I’m actually kind of known for breaking technology so I have this in case of emergency.” The redness of the girl’s face deepened. “I kind of forgot that you don’t have this number…I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me, but when I got home, Raven was there with Anya and went on a tangent about what a horrible…girlfriend I’ve been.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes slightly at that, because Raven would’ve used the word soulmate in reference to Lexa; especially ever since Lexa complained about Raven’s use of the word to Anya and Anya relayed the information, Raven loved annoying people. Through this mess, Clarke learned slowly that Lexa never once called Clarke her soulmate, even though they confirmed it from day one.

“You haven’t been horrible,” Clarke promised, grabbing at Lexa’s hands and holding them in her lap. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. You’ve never asked about these,” Clarke pushed Lexa’s sleeve upwards slightly to reveal a portion of deliberate lines so numerous they bled into one another. “And I caused these myself. I’m assuming little nine year old Lexa didn’t shoot herself,” Clarke tried a joke, but winced at how bad it sounded once she said it.

Yet Lexa laughed, slightly and more a chuckle than anything, but the brunette appreciated Clarke for trying.

“No,” Lexa affirmed, leaning back onto her heels, “I didn’t.” She turned and, taking a hand away from Clarke, grabbed the thickest file, the front label filled with police jargon and stamped by Lexa’s hometown police seal. Looking down at it, she sighed before placing it on Clarke’s lap, “How did you know it was a gun shot?”

“My mom’s a doctor, remember?” Lexa nodded, Clarke mentioned it once or twice, mostly when talking about the woman’s dreams for her daughter. Clarke fiddled with the file, letting Lexa’s hand go completely. “I don’t need to know, if you aren’t comfortable.”

“You’re the one who carries the scar, you deserve to know,” Lexa insisted.

Clarke hesitated, but couldn’t deny that she did feel somewhat entitled to know. Not only did the gunshot take away the idea of a soulmate for a good part of her life, but not long past before something reminded Clarke of the large scar on her stomach. When all her friends started wearing two piece swimsuits, Clarke still preferred a one piece, even “tank-inis” proved too much of a risk. Cheerleading got nixed since the uniform left her stomach bare. Rushing to PE class to change before everyone else and hanging back late, almost missing her next period, to change when no one remained. As selfish and shallow as it may be, Clarke also felt like she deserved to know and here Lexa stood, handing her all she wanted on a silver platter.

Yet at the same time…

“Lex, I can’t do this,” Clarke shook her head, pushing the folder away from her. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of this, I have no right to pressure you into telling me something you aren’t ready to. I don’t care if you think I deserve to know, it’s your story to tell.”

“I am ready,” Lexa promised, pushing the folder back.

“Maybe later-”

“Clarke, just read-”

  
“I can’t-”

“Yes, you can-”

“Soulmates shouldn’t pressure-”

“I got the folder on my own-”

“This whole thing-”

“My dad shot me.” Lexa finally blurted out, stopping the twos back and forth ramblings.

Clarke blinked at her, stunned. “I’m sorry, what?”

Lexa sat, shocked to the core. She’d never said it so bluntly before.

“My parents,” She swallowed slightly, gaze turned off into the distance. “They were going through rough times-mom’s pay got docked and dad never made much to begin with and I probably wasn’t much help either. Dad…um, he got violent and, one day, a gun.” Lexa let out a humorless laugh. “We live in America, it wasn’t exactly hard. He shot mom and I came home early, before he could shoot himself. He told me to go to my Uncle’s, but the gun went off before I could.”

Somewhere in the tale, Clarke’s jaw dropped slightly. “Lex…”

“He called an ambulance,” Lexa continued. “Didn’t leave, either, or shoot himself like he’d planned. He stayed with me until the paramedics came and turned himself in.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispered, at a loss for anything else to say.

“It isn’t-” Lexa was cut off as her girlfriend threw herself into Lexa’s arms, wrapping her arms around Lexa as tightly as possible, peppering kisses on any piece of skin she could reach-neck, shoulder, cheek, ear.

After a while of cuddling on the living room floor, Lexa noticed what Clarke was wearing; a mischievous smirk pulled on the corners of her mouth.

“Well, well, well,” Lexa tsked. “Looks like the Arkers have a traitor on their hands.”


	2. Lexa's Scars

Lexa never really minded the scars on her arm. Distinctive as they were and given the placing, people took the hint that the story behind them belonged only between her and her…girlfriend. Already used to wearing long sleeved shirts and cardigans, a habit beginning back when she woke up in the hospital, Lexa thought nothing of it after meeting Clarke. At the same time, Lexa wasn’t oblivious.

After Clarke finally learned the truth behind the gun wound settled on her stomach, her gaze always seemed to drift to Lexa’s covered arm. They never talked about them; Lexa already knew how the scars came to be, though what pushed Clarke to that remained a mystery. Lexa didn’t need to know, because Clarke stopped. She took antidepressants and still saw a therapist, but a razor on the bathroom counter no longer sent off alarms for the people that knew Clarke at the time. After only three and a half months, it seemed like too private a topic to be broached, even after talking about gun-wielding fathers. Yet as time passed and the topic never got addressed, the lingering glances came more frequently and lasted longer.

One day, while Clarke laid on her bed, working on a new art piece and Lexa sat against the headboard next to her going over her American Political History notes, the blonde suddenly sat up and turned to Lexa. After a few moments of staring, Lexa looked away from her notebook, glasses perched halfway down her nose.

“Yes?” She asked bemused.

“Are you ashamed of them?” Clarke blurted out causing Lexa’s eyebrows to shoot up to her hairline as she slowly closed her book.

“I’m sorry…?” Lexa tilted her head to the side slightly, confused. “Clarke, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Clarke shifted nervously, eyes darting to Lexa’s forearm, “Them. Are you ashamed of them?”

“Wha-Oh,” Lexa realized, before rolling up her sleeve to reveal the scars. “These?” Clarke nodded. “No, I’m not ashamed of them. Why you would you think that?”

“You always cover them...coming from the girl who’s never worn a bikini, never mind, I’m being stupid,” Clarke shook her head and attempted to go back to her work, but was intercepted by Lexa’s hand on her shoulder, keeping her from turning away from her.

“No, you aren’t,” Lexa insisted. “Does it bother you that I always wear long-sleeves?”

Clarke shrugged half-heartedly, “Not at first. I mean, we met in November, but then Raven and Anya got closer, not to mention you two are cousins, and then pictures-”

“God, I do not need to be reminded of that,” Lexa groaned, her head falling back to hit the wall.

Clarke smiled at Lexa’s antics before moving Lexa’s studying materials and sitting between her legs. Almost instinctively, Lexa’s arms wrapped around Clarke loosely, resting her chin on Clarke’s shoulder.

“You were cute as a kid,” Clarke assured, “but I also noticed that you always wore long sleeves in later pictures.”

Lexa didn’t like where the topic began to head; she knew very well that Clarke, like most of the world, full-heartedly believed in soulmates.

“That has nothing to do with you,” Lexa promised, squeezing Clarke slightly. “All you need to know is that I’m not ashamed of them.”

“You know,” Clarke’s voice held a fake sense of casual small talk, “According to my mom, after she and dad met, they knew almost everything about each other in two months.”

Lexa furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, “Two months?”

“Yep.” Clarke shrugged. “The power of soulmates, I guess.”

At the mention of the word, Lexa noticeably tensed. The blonde continued, turning to make eye contact with Lexa, but green refused to meet blue. The dots suddenly connected in Clarke’s mind and she blinked slowly before turning around fully to face Lexa. Once the blonde left Lexa’s lap, Lexa brought her knees up to her chest while Clarke crossed her legs in front of her.

“You don’t believe in soulmates,” Clarke stated quietly.

With a sigh, Lexa finally looked at Clarke, trying to calm her frazzled mind. The girl in front of her looked so small, so shaken by the realization.

“I don’t know, Clarke,” Lexa admitted, voice soft. “For a long time, I didn’t. I mean, I knew someone out there carried the scars of my injuries. My parents were supposedly soulmates; my dad killed his soulmate. After that, my faith disappeared.” Devastation apparent on Clarke’s face, a rock formed in Lexa’s stomach at having yet again caused her such despair. “But then I met you and…I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“You covered every scar you had after the accident,” Clarke realized and Lexa nodded. “You didn’t want to be reminded of me.” Her voice sounded heartbroken and Lexa struggled not to cry as she nodded again.

“Clarke, you have to understand, I didn’t know you at the time and I was young-”

“Did you realize I thought you were dead?” Clarke demanded, stopping Lexa cold.

Lexa blinked for a few seconds. In the long rants Clarke had regarding the scar on her stomach, Lexa vaguely remembered mentions of Clarke believing Lexa to be dead, but the screaming caused Lexa’s heart to race, her breathing to become uneven and her palms to sweat. Needless to say, Lexa recalled very little of the things Clarke said during these arguments. Mute, Lexa shook her head.

“Not a single scar appeared on my body since you were shot,” Clarke explained. “I thought you were dead. For years. And, guess what, I believe in soulmates, and I thought mine was dead, because you prevented yourself from every getting a scar by covering your body the way you did.” Slowly, anger started to slip into Clarke’s tone.

“That’s not fair,” Lexa muttered.

“That’s not fair?!” Clarke exclaimed, leaping off the bed to begin pacing around the room. “Not fair is watching all of your friends meet their soulmates.” Her tone grew louder and Lexa felt her heart beginning to pound. “Not fair is your mother telling you to stop thinking that your soulmate may be alive, because she probably isn’t!” Louder and Lexa tried to calm down, because of everything in this world that wasn’t fair, this was. Lexa wondered, even when she stopped believing in soulmates, if she would’ve panicked if the scars stopped appearing. “Not fair is having the only person who still held out for hope that your soulmate is alive getting killed in a _fucking_ car accident and the only way to numb any pain is by slicing your own goddamn arm!” As her palms began to sweat and eyesight become blurry with tears, Lexa remembered sneaking glances at new scars while at the same time trying to convince herself she didn’t care and having no clue she contributed to them. “Not! Fair! Is-”

Suddenly, Clarke stopped, looking at Lexa and guilt rushing over her in waves. Knees pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around them, Lexa buried her face in her kneecaps, sobbing with abandon. All anger and energy left her body as Clarke slumped onto the bed, barely staying upright. Why did talking about important things always end with one of them crying?

“God, come here,” Clarke murmured after fully climbing onto the bed.

Pulling Lexa close to her, she maneuvered the two under the covers. Tucking Lexa into her body, Clarke curled protectively around Lexa.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, kissing the top of Lexa’s head. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t’ve yelled or pushed, again. It’s okay,” Clarke tried to comfort her. “I wasn’t being fair to you, I know. You had no clue and you were struggling just like I was, I can’t hold your own coping methods against you.”

After a small while, Lexa’s sobs quieted and lessened, until only small hiccups remained. The two laid there intertwined until Lexa broke the silence.

“I may not be sure if soulmates exist,” Lexa said quietly. “But I know that I love you, Clarke.”

Clarke smiled softly, kissing Lexa’s forehead, “I love you, too. That’s all I will ever ask of you, I promise.”

“…does that mean you won’t ask me to do the dishes?”  
“I thought we were having a moment here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of this story! I have decided to continue this series though, so YAY.  
> I hope you all enjoyed this two-shot. PLEASE LEAVE KUDOS OR A REVIEW, THEY MAKE MY YEAR


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